


the ghosts that survive

by Elizabeth (anghraine)



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Baggage, F/M, Fluff, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-23
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-10-09 11:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10411206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anghraine/pseuds/Elizabeth
Summary: Love doesn't cure Jyn's and Cassian's many problems. But it helps.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Someone on Tumblr asked about how Jyn and Cassian ended up married in [wandering inside this night](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9193487/chapters/20859821). I decided that I could just answer, but then again, I could write a 3k+ marriage proposal. :)

“I think we should get married,” Jyn announced.

She tried to sound matter-of-fact about it. She _felt_ matter-of-fact about it. And a little nervous, maybe—that was why she blurted it out as soon as she barged into Ice Chamber Exactly-the-Fuck-Like-All-the-Other-Ones, where Cassian was repairing Kaytoo.

Cassian’s hydrospanner didn’t drop, of course. But it went completely still in his grip. “What?”

“All of us?” said Kaytoo. “No. I might consider Cassian, but not you.”

She’d thought him still powered down. Or she would have, if she’d thought about him at all. It was almost a relief to fold her arms and scowl in his direction.

Maybe she was more than a little nervous.

“Do you even know what marriage is?” she demanded.

“The establishment and formalization of permanent association between individuals,” he said promptly, “which is legally binding and widely acknowledged. Often, but not always, the intended result is reproduction, though that is obviously untenable in this case.”

“All right, you know.” She squinted up at him. “But don’t jump to conclusions. I’ve cobbled droids together before. I could build a bunch of tiny KX units and Cassian could program them and you’d correct all the mistakes.”

“What is the purpose of a small KX unit?”

“Metaphorically tiny,” said Jyn. “They’d have to be around your size to properly terrorize stormtroopers.”

“Yes,” he said, mulling it over. “That would be satisfactory. However, I still do not wish to marry you, Jyn Erso.”

“But you’ll marry Cassian?”

“No,” decided Kaytoo. “I just find that prospect somewhat less distasteful.”

Very carefully, Cassian set down the hydrospanner. Jyn’s pulse, already thrumming a quick, shallow beat, pounded in her head and throat. Even her ears rang, and her chest hurt. She was going to deck anyone who called it romantic.

“What’s wrong with you, anyway?” she asked Kaytoo. “You just had an update.”

“I was deactivated for repairs after our last mission, if you recall.”

She did recall. In fact, she might never forget, though she hadn’t been there herself. Jyn and Cassian worked together more often than not, but not when it came to delicate negotiations with informants. Instead, she’d been training some of their recruits in hand-to-hand combat, something vastly more suited to her tastes and skills. It seemed a fairly routine operation by Cassian standards, in any case, but he went MIA for ten days and came back with ruptured organs, half his bones broken, and Kay barely functional.

Jyn was not informed. Not officially. Not unofficially, either, until Luke Skywalker—convinced of their relationship before they were themselves—took it upon himself to pass the news. _Jyn, did you know that Commander Andor’s back? Pretty rough shape, but it looks like he’s going to make it. I probably shouldn’t be saying anything, but I figured you’d want to know._

He definitely shouldn’t have mentioned it, as far as regulations went. Luke had the news from Princess Leia, who had it from General Rieekan, who had it from Draven himself, concerned in a Draven sort of way over the near-loss of his best agent. Jyn didn’t care. By then, Cassian was out of bacta and healing, though near insensible with exhaustion and painkillers. Jyn and Bodhi only got to see him at all by shamelessly exploiting the memory of the Death Star.

He was too sleepy to say much, but they’d long since figured out what the droids and doctors never did, for all the countless times they patched him up. Cassian, himself quiet when not silent, liked to hear people talking around him. All the more when he was injured. So Bodhi and Jyn chatted about the small accomplishments and squabbles on the base for well over an hour, until Bodhi got called off.

Without him, without Kaytoo, everything _wrong_ seemed to swell up in her, beyond any containing. She wanted … she didn’t even know.

The longer she stayed with the Rebellion, the more her feet itched, yet the more determined she felt to stay. Even beyond the fight, the Rebellion gave her more than she’d had in years: family, in the remnants of Rogue One, and friends, and a sanctuary of trust. But more to lose, too—fear ate at her, sometimes, with the Empire’s net closing and their forces spread thin. Missions grew more desperate and often more solitary, particularly Cassian’s unofficial ones.

Honestly, she couldn’t even keep track of those. It was easier to guess by his state when he returned: injured, or merely tired, or bleak-eyed and toneless for hours afterwards.

Jyn herself came back from her rougher missions restless and eager for fighting, drinking, anything. Once, Cassian took her flying after a single glance at her; somehow he managed to sneak them both away, and they flew through obscenely narrow, jagged passages in the ice until she felt human again. But when it came to him, she didn’t really know what to do, except stick around. It seemed enough; he’d hold her with his face pressed against her shoulder or neck, and either returned to something like himself or managed to sleep. But she still felt useless and furious at herself for it—herself and Draven and the Empire and the nameless clonetroopers who had driven him into the Rebellion.

(Whenever she tried to imagine them, Krennic’s troopers flashed through her mind. A village of Lyra Ersos dropped to the ground, right before Cassian-Jyn’s eyes, and he-she fled into the darkness.)

Sometimes she longed for nothing so much as an end to it all. Cassian never talked of a future after the war. Jyn didn’t know if he even considered it. But she did. She didn’t pin anything on the hope, but hoped nonetheless, clinging to the dream of something beyond this. At least for awhile. Bodhi, he’d like to go legit again. Maybe Han would figure out how to stop tripping over his own tongue around the princess. Jyn and Cassian and Kay could go fight crime or something. Anything but this.

“We might live,” she whispered. Cassian was awake, though out of it. “After. What would you even want?”

He turned his head towards her, blinking. More alert than she’d thought, but not by much. Despite the dim light, his eyes were almost uninterrupted brown, each pupil a small black point.

He mumbled, “What everyone wants.”

“And what do you think everyone wants?”

His eyes closed again. “Peace, family, marriage.”

Jyn started.

“Democracy,” added Cassian, because of course he did.

Her mouth twitched. “Everyone wants democracy, huh?”

“They _should_.”

She didn’t quite laugh at him. But if the Jyn of two years ago had known that she’d end up loving a man who babbled about democracy while higher than the stratosphere—well.

The bay was empty. She leaned down to kiss him.

“Go to sleep, Cassian.”

When he woke again, he didn’t remember any of it. But Jyn’s mind kept winding back, to laughing as they careened through some hellish ice canyon, and _I figured you’d want to know_ ; to _family, marriage_ , and Cassian hiding his face in her neck. To how much she wanted to claw out of this life, and how much she wanted to stay.

“Of course you don’t recall,” Kaytoo was saying. “You weren’t there. But I took sufficient damage to require a shift to low power, and during my repairs, some incompetent lifeform put a restraining bolt on me.”

“What an idiot,” said Jyn.

He studied her. “Your comprehension of the situation is surprisingly accurate.”

“I’m not much for shackles, myself.”

Cassian pulled the bolt off. “There you are, Kay. A free droid again.”

“Thank you,” he said, the robotic tones somehow carrying a wealth of intensity. Then he added, “I am still not marrying you, however.”

“I should hope not. You can leave,” said Cassian. He looked at Jyn, irritatingly neutral. Among others, that would mean nothing; it had long since become his resting expression. With her, though … with her, it meant he was either concealing his real thoughts or confused. Either seemed probable enough at the moment. “Jyn, I—”

“Don’t answer yet,” she said quickly. “I have reasons. Hear me out.”

Cassian glanced back at Kaytoo, who had not budged beyond turning his head to examine Jyn.

“Kay. Go.”

“How am I to evaluate her reasoning if I am not here?” he demanded.

“I can evaluate on my own,” said Cassian.

“Yes,” Kaytoo allowed, “but with far less accuracy, and certainly less efficiency.”

Well, she definitely wasn’t going to have to deck anyone. But while she’d intended to wait until one or both of them managed to kick Kay out, some vague instinct reminded her that divided attention could be an advantage.

“First of all,” said Jyn, raising a finger, “officers’ spouses have full access to their quarters at all times, and a commander’s quarters are much warmer and more comfortable than a lieutenant’s.”

“A valid reason,” Kaytoo said, with cool approval, “but inadequate.”

“You already have access to my quarters,” said Cassian, and now she felt certain that his blank expression was one of genuine bewilderment.

“ _Someone_ ”—she shot a meaningful look at Kaytoo—“keeps changing your passcodes.”

“There is a fourteen percent chance that Cassian’s security could be compromised, while the likelihood of your death by hypothermia in your own quarters is less than two percent.”

Cassian rubbed his temples. “You want to marry me for my passcodes?”

Not dignifying either with a response, she ticked off a second finger. “Also, spouses are entitled to disclosure about serious injury, death, imprisonment, and so on. You have the clearance for my status, but I don’t have it for yours, and I’m tired of finding out on someone’s whim, if at all. And even with the clearance, you’re not automatically informed—you have to know enough to check.”

“Yes,” Cassian said quietly, a faint but familiar softness touching his mouth and eyes. He studied her face, as she’d seen him study so many faces, searching for answers. Not for the first time, she wished that hers expressed more; she couldn’t switch her guard on and off at will, and reserve had sunk deep in her bones.

“Another valid consideration,” said Kaytoo. “You surprise me. However, you could simply list each other as emergency contacts, if you were not so foolishly intent on subterfuge.”

Still skittish, Jyn stiffened her spine. “Thirdly, you already want to get married.” Before Cassian (or, more likely, Kay) could question that, she added, “You said so in the infirmary.”

He opened his mouth, then closed it again. Picking his words, Cassian said, “I do not remember, but I would not have meant … have expected—”

“You never expect anything,” she said dismissively. “And you’re not denying it, are you?”

“That is not proof,” said Kaytoo. “Nor is it proof that he referred to a marriage with you, specifically.”

“Of course he did,” she said.

Had she ever thought about anything like this, in those years before the Rebellion caught her in its net, she would have expected to doubt. She always doubted people; she always had to, if she didn’t want to get robbed or betrayed at every turn. Cassian himself had come within a hair of betraying her, too—reluctant tool of the Rebellion’s betrayal, but still. He was a spy and an assassin and a liar who’d regarded her with the same suspicion she did him, yet a month from meeting, they trusted each other with their lives. By the time the Death Star exploded above Yavin, they clung together as neither had done since childhood. And they never so much as considered the possibility of betrayal afterwards.

“I’m sure I meant you,” said Cassian.

Kaytoo made an irritable metallic sound. “If you don’t remember, then you can’t be sure of anything.”

“Kay,” he said, eyes unwavering from Jyn’s face, “you definitely need to go away now.”

The droid, truculent as ever, demanded, “Why?”

Jyn rolled her eyes, but sobered the instant that Cassian took one of her hands. She’d felt ungainly about them, unsure whether to leave them dangling awkwardly by her sides or fold her arms, but—this was okay. This was good.

“We’re going to be sentimental,” he told Kay. “You won’t want to witness it.”

_“Oh.”_ With another indecipherable droid sound, Kaytoo stalked off. Even the clatter of his limbs managed to sound judgmental.

As soon as the door sealed shut behind them, Jyn raised her brows. “Sentimental, are we?”

With a hint of a smile around his mouth and rather more than a hint around his eyes, Cassian said, “I assume you have real reasons.”

She lifted her chin. “I assume _you_ do.”

They both looked down at their linked hands. For herself, Jyn felt rather martyred. They could and did read each other at a glance, all the time—during missions, debriefs, everything. It seemed decidedly unfair that the ability should desert them now. It also seemed unfair that her thoughts scattered as Cassian’s thumb traced absent circles against her wrist, her entire body warm, even though they regularly did far more than hold hands.

“I’m not used to us needing explanations,” she said at last, torn between exasperation and assurance.

“Neither am I,” said Cassian, his voice milder, but with the same edge of frustration.

Their hands tightened. After another long pause, he said,

“Marriage is … safer.”

“Safer?” Jyn repeated. If she didn’t perfectly understand her own reasons, she felt sure that safety hadn’t entered into it.

“It is not that I distrust you, Jyn.” She heard him took a deep breath, exhale through his teeth. “You know how I am. I always prefer stability, where I can get it.”

“You want to marry me for stability?” Jyn nearly laughed. _“Me?”_

“No, I—” Cassian made an inarticulate noise that perfectly expressed her own feelings. “Marriage has protections. Laws and customs and rights. Wherever we go, whatever we do, our oath would go with us.”

The idea of an oath alarmed her, a bit. She hadn’t really thought of it that way. But, of course, marriage _would_ be an oath, that was the whole point of it. Not unspoken understanding, not ready promises, but a contract, sworn and inscribed. Others might not honour it, but they could never take it from them.

Jyn could see why that would appeal to Cassian. On consideration, it appealed to her, too, little as she cared for laws and rules in general. She still didn’t care about them for their own sake. But if he preferred stability, the formalities that made order out of nothing, she preferred security, things nailed down every way that she could think of, signed and sealed and backed by as much force as possible.

“And you?” he asked.

At that, they both looked up, both flushed. He’d gone solemn, while Jyn felt a smile trembling on her mouth. Even as she succumbed to the smile, she hung onto her composure.

“I believe in this war,” she said, trying to strand her thoughts into some sort of sense. “In fighting the Empire with all we have. You know I believe it.”

Bewilderment blanked out Cassian’s expression again. “Yes.”

“But I’m not you.” Jyn had to be cutting off the blood in his fingertips. She couldn’t bring herself to care. “I can understand and fight for a cause. I do, everyday. Just—”

Not as Cassian did, not as the fire that animated her life. She would risk her life for the galaxy, but that was something she chose, not who she was.

“I fight hardest for myself. I live for myself, me and mine. I don’t care if it’s selfish.”

Jyn searched his face. His eyes, she thought, looked soft again. Maybe. He was frowning.

“I don’t follow.” At her sigh, blowing her fringe out of her face, Cassian said quickly, “That is, I understand. I know you. I simply don’t see how it … relates.”

She relaxed.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” she told him, squashing the urge to drop her eyes again, “but you’re mine, all right?”

To her relief, his confusion faded into a slow smile. It was a familiar one, by now, a mix of delighted and unsteady. Who cared that neither of them went in for endearments or chatter about love, when Cassian looked at her like that? And Jyn suspected her own expression did … something, at these moments. They were the only times her guard really cracked; she’d feel that instinctive, irrepressible something heating her cheeks and curving her mouth, though nobody seemed to notice but Luke and Cassian. The former smugly insisted that she went _all bright and surprised, Jyn, it’s nice._ The latter caught his breath, which honestly said more.

She felt pretty sure her face was doing the same thing now.

With his free hand, Cassian reached out and tucked her hair behind her ears. “What is the wrong way, exactly?”

His voice had dropped several registers, his thumb lingering at her cheekbone. Jyn laughed in her throat.

“It’s not that I distrust you, Cassian,” she said, smiling back. “I don’t suppose you’ll disappear without—shackles, say.” Jyn thought of Draven and nearly wrinkled her nose. “I never think that. But you know how _I_ am. Verbal agreements are … they’re broken all the time.”

_I’ll always protect you._

_Stay in the bunker until daylight. I’ll be back then._

“I know you won’t,” Jyn added hastily. Cassian didn’t look offended or hurt, just thoughtful, eyes studying her and fingers resting lightly against her jaw. But with him, she never knew what would sail past and what he’d torment himself over for weeks.

Cassian did keep his word, with her. Jyn trusted him to keep it. But a more general wariness lingered in her.

She fumbled for words. “It’s just …”

“Safer?”

“Oh, fine.” Jyn scowled. “ _Safer._ You were right. Are you satisfied now?”

“Yes,” Cassian said readily. In one of the great injustices of the universe, he had dimples, when he was happy enough to show them. Like now.

As always, though, he quickly turned grave.

“I try not to think of the future,” he said, each word slow and careful.

She narrowed her eyes. As she did, Jyn realized that if they stood another inch closer, they’d be colliding. She wasn’t sure when that had happened, which one had moved. Probably both; they’d done that from the first. Cassian seemed to notice at the same time, his eyes very dark as he searched for words.

“We have cheated death so many times, but I—” He shook his head. “But sometimes I imagine, anyway. Jyn, I never picture a life without you in it.”

Her mood flashed to absurdly cheerful. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Jyn,” he murmured, only just audible, his entire body tilted to her. They’d be kissing already if she were taller. But she straightened up as he leaned that bit down, and he was whispering against her lips, “Jyn, Jyn.”

They pressed together, accustomed enough that it felt easy, natural. There was a familiar language in the slide of his fingers down her throat and her hands in his hair, the parting of their lips and uneven breaths. Not enough for it to seem ordinary, for her to think anything for a few long seconds beyond _Cassian_ and _I want, I want—_

When they separated, breathless, she collected herself enough to remember her one reservation.

“We’d give up our secrecy, though,” she admitted. “And Command wouldn’t let us serve together.”

Cassian hesitated, then looked into her face and said, “They don’t have to know.”

“What about all those rights?” said Jyn, putting his hair back into order with the ease of long habit.

“Leia,” he said instantly.

It took a moment to follow that particular leap of thought. Only a moment, though.

“You think she’d help hide this?”

“I think she already is,” said Cassian. “One way or another.”

Luke, of course. He told her everything. And odds were good that Leia had figured it out on her own, anyway. She had the same sort of uncanny sense about people. Though she never said a word, she’d always treated them as a package arrangement, _you and Erso need to_ embedded into every order she gave.

Jyn grinned as Cassian straightened her vest. “She does owe us a favour.”

“I don’t imagine that will be necessary. But if it is …” He gave an eminently Cassian shrug, then touched his thumb to her bottom lip. Another repair: the thumb came away smeared with a drop of blood.

_Is that a yes?_ she almost asked, but she had some pride.

“You need to drink more water, Jyn.”

She decided it was.


End file.
